


From Canada with Love

by forthefuture



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, First Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Grand Prix, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, M/M, Romance, Russian food, Smut, Social Media, Teen Romance, Victuuri Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8790817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthefuture/pseuds/forthefuture
Summary: "Look Yuratchka." Viktor said, and tried a smile with him, one that Yurio glowered at ferociously until Viktor was forced to tune down its excruciating brightness, "You're a teenager, and that means you're still very young and very impressionable."His eyes took on the look of a puppy that's been kicked."I'm sure you understand that I really don't want my son's first relationship to end in heartbreak?"[ Written after Episode 8. Rostelecom Cup alternative end where Yurio struggles to come to terms with winning Bronze, Yuuri helps him throughout,  JJ's hand wanders places it shouldn't and Victuuri are the most embarassing, overprotective parents Yurio had never asked for ]





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there,
> 
> Victuuri family is love, Victuuri family is life, I think that goes without saying. 
> 
> Ep 8 had me shipping JJ and Yurio like crazy, so I decided to make a longer encounter happen.
> 
> (JJ's gf isn't mentioned and possibly nonexistent in this fic.)
> 
> Rating given because Victuuri spend some quality time together at one point ;)
> 
> Enjoy! :D

"Congratulations on second place!" The first reporter, a burly man, held the microphone into his face. "Thank you." Yuuri said, with an absent smile. Yurio had been gone for longer than any of them would have expected. "How do you feel about advancing to the Grand Prix?" A woman with curly brown locks chimed in, squeezing herself right next to the man, directing her own microphone at him. "I." Yuuri said, unintelligibly, "I feel…great." He cringed internally at his choice of words. Athletes that couldn't express themselves or chose to do so with one-worded answers were not uncommon, and he'd sworn he'd be fighting against that unfortunate stereotype, should he ever advance to a bigger competition.

 _Yakov_ was more expressive than this, he noticed glumly, as the next flood of excited questions washed over him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Russian coach surrounded by an even larger cluster of the media. "The next goal is to score even higher at the Grand Prix." he declared at this moment, his wrinkled face pulled in familiar dissatisfaction, gesturing emphatically, "Placing silver at that competition, perhaps gold, is a goal Yuri aims to achieve."

 _Silver_ , Yuuri thought, fingering the medal draped around his neck. He still found it hard to believe that it was there. In the background, he heard a booming voice declare that it was: "J-J-Style!", most certainly presenting his own medal that shone in a royal gold.

"Mr. Katsuki?"

"My coach Viktor and I plan to celebrate with my family later on." Yuuri stammered out, directing himself away from Yakov with difficulty, relieved to have at least heard the last question he was asked. "What are your future plans, Mr. Katsuki? Will you be staying in Russia for future coaching sessions with Mr. Nikiforov?" The masses of reporters were growing, or so it seemed to Yuri. He swallowed, as a good four further people elbowed their way into his field of view, all armed with microphones from local TV or Radio stations. "Where do you see yourself a year from now?" The woman from earlier chimed in. Yuuri's throat grew dry. "I'm not certain yet." he said, without considering his sentence prior.

Yurio remained absent from the after show celebration. He wasn't standing at any of the little desks set up with snacks for the athletes and coaches, neither was he being held up by reporters or fans. If Yuuri was honest, the last he'd seen of him was when they'd all taken photos on the podium, when Yurio had snapped at JJ to "Get the fuck away, you moron.". Luckily, it had been quiet enough to prevent a slandering article and a subsequent heart attack for Yakov.

"Mr. Katsuki, how is close is your relationship to Mr. Nikiforov?" The reporter had foxy red hair and smiled just as slyly. The microphone inched towards him. Chatter broke out among the other reporters, and it didn't take long for questions of similar nature to be tossed at him like rocks. Yuuri stared down at the mint-green fabric and prayed that his blush wasn't as visible as it felt. Celestino and Yakov alike would have been tearing out their hair if they heard of such a lack of preparation, but unfortunately, Viktor and him hadn't yet discussed what they would use for an official statement. The speculations ranging from hug to kiss circulated wildly in the web, Phichit was _not_ helping by posting every picture he had snapped of them so far with enthusiastic tags.

 _So cute! #LoveWins_ \- Minami would frequently write underneath.

 _You two are so adorable! 3 The triplets made another video for you, I'll be sending you a link._ \- That was Yuuko's latest comment.

 _Ugh I'm gonna vomit jfc get a room –_ Yuri Plisetsky showcased his annoyance underneath their most embarrassing, sappy photos. But it was alright. Viktor commented: "You know you love us" with an array of heart emojis, Yurio replied with an angry emoji, and all over the worlds, millions of skating otaku's cooed at the exchange

"Ah, Yuuri!" The latter let out a deep sigh of relief, as his savior emerged from the crowded masses. Viktor's smile was as warm as the sun, and his eyes twinkled with giddy excitement as he patted Yuuri's shoulders. As expected, the reporters launched himself at him, and the size of the crowd surrounding them grew to match the one around Leroy.

Viktor maintained his smile at the onslaught of questions, and bent down to Yuri, to whisper, so quiet that it was barely audible, "Look for Yurio." Then, his boyfriend gave him the gentlest nudge Yuuri had ever received.

"What did you tell your student, Mr. Nikiforov?" the eager question sprung forward at once, followed by several similar ones.

The gesture hadn't gone unnoticed, but it sufficed: The attention now was directed solely at Viktor, and Yuuri threw him a thankful glance for the opportunity of a get-away. The surprised expressions Yuuri was graced with at first vanished in favor of the media barging forward even more, to be as close to Viktor as possible. While his coach was asked how he'd enjoyed his stay in Hatetsu, Yuuri slipped away.

 

* * *

 

 

The bathrooms reserved for the athlethes and coaches were on the first floor. Yuuri quickly made his way those assembled, down the corridor, and then up the stairs, determined not to be held up by anyone. He ignored the "Mr. Katsuki!" that was shouted after him at two separate occasions. When he'd reached the first floor, he had to stop for a second to wipe the sweat of his brow. Being out of the spotlight for so long, he still had to take his time getting used to all the media attention. He admired the seemingly effortless grace with which Viktor managed to get by. Even Yurio deserved respect for his handling of the media. He was more subdued when on live broadcast and the tiniest bit shy when surrounded by fans, and still, there wasn't a second in which Yuuri thought he was showing an artificial personality. Yurio really was one of a kind.

Yuuri hoped that his hunch turned out to be right, but when he peered into the bathroom, he could only spot Emil Nekola washing his hands. The cabin doors behind him all stood open and empty. Yuuri slipped out as quietly as he could. He frowned, staring at the door for the female restroom. Perhaps he was getting a bit ahead of himself- Yurio was never one to be embarrassed enough to hide away, or to go to such lengths to not be spotted. But then, the way Yurio had disappeared, his expression tense and eyes downcast the last time Yuuri had properly looked at him, all hints were pointing in this direction. Now, all he had to hope for was that Yurio's infamous anger had not manifested itself in the mean time.

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri pushed open the door. Score. One of the cabins was locked, and he knew Sara Crispino was standing downstairs with her brother, managing camera-worthy smiles despite reality of the fifth-place weighing them down. "Yurio?" he called out, carefully. The fact that he did not receive an answer was the clearest one he could have gotten. Heartbeat picking up, Yuuri only hesitated for a second before making his way towards the cabin doors. He knocked carefully against the one the furthest away from the bathroom's entrance ,the one that remained closed. "Yurio?" he asked, softly, "Are you in there?"

He heard a quiet sniff. "Go away,Katsudon." a muffled voice sounded from within the cabin's confinement. Simultaneously, Yuri experienced relief and dread.

 

* * *

 

Tears shimmered in the corners of Yurio's eyes. He sat on still-closed lid, hunched over in a posture that was cramped and tense enough for the mere visual to cause Yuuri back pain.

"Oh, Yurio." the words left his lips unintentionally, and he sighed as he knelt down in front of the younger skater, fishing in his training jacket for the tissues he always kept there.

"I thought I said to go away." Yurio repeated, though without the usual venom in his tone, and a frown wrinkled his forehead when Yuri pulled out the packet.

"What are you doing?" he said, miserably, but Yuuri shushed him.

"Hold still." he requested, and while Yurio averted his eyes, he kept his head unmoved.

As gentle as he could, Yuuri started dabbing at his eyes with a tissue. Yurio, after the first suspicious glance, let him.

"There's no need to cry." Yuuri spoke, hoping to ease some of his tension by his words alone, "None at all." He threw the tissue in the bin and took out another, making sure to dry every last of the tears marring his face, "You can be so proud of yourself, Yurio."

Yurio scoffed, but it came out sounding more like a mixture between a scoff and a choked sob.

"Yeah, as though there's anything to be proud of over third place." Yurio turned his head away, and hissed, "Don't talk shit.", the familiar ire flickering up.

Yuuri sighed. He let Yurio stew by himself for a moment, crossing over to the sinks quickly, to douse the remaining half of the packet in ice-cold water. When he was finished, he returned to Yurio's side. The teenager remained with his face turned firmly away from him.

"I told you to keep still, didn't I?" Yuuri said, very carefully lifting a hand to touch his face, and when Yurio didn't swat it away, he dared to go as far as turning it ever so slightly back towards himself.

"Who are you, my mum?" Yurio grumbled, but held the posture this time.

The squatting position he was holding was taking a strain on his already sore legs, but Yuuri whisked away his body's own complaints for the moments to focus solely on Yurio. He began cooling the younger skater's face, wiping over his mouth, cheeks and forehead, before instructing him to close his eyes. When Yurio miraculously did as he was told, Yuuri went on to press two wet tissues against his shut eyelids.

"Hold them there, please." he said, "Crying is healthy, but I don't think you want the media to see you like this, do you?"

"No." Yurio whispered. His hands shot up, and he took over, pressing the tissues hard enough against his face that Yuuri feared that he was trying to ram his eyeballs into his skull. It took several soft tugs at his wrists and a plea for his own safety until he finally loosened is grip.

Keeping a watch on Yurio, he lowered himself to the ground, choosing to trust in the relatively sanitary condition of the bathroom and the outlook of throwing his training gear in the washing the second he'd get to his room. Yuuri breathed out in relief, the ache in his muscle dissipating in the far relaxing posture.

"I thought you came to gloat." Yurio broke the silence after a few minutes, removing the wipes from his eyes and blinking his eyes open to observe him with vague mistrust.

Yuuri stared at him utter shock.

"Why should on earth should I want to gloat?" he asked, straightening his posture, "Leaving aside that there is absolutely nothing to gloat about?"

His tentative praise was met with another scoff.

"You could have." Yurio mumbled, "After the Grand Prix." he drew up his legs to hug them towards his chest in a gesture Yuuri thought was as heart-breaking as it was adorable, "I told _you_ to quit for being such a loser, when you were...in the bathroom."

Yuuri believed he'd been on the verge of saying _crying_ , but since Yuri Plisetsky _certainly never cried_ , it seemed as though he reconsidered before any associations could be made.

"You were fourteen." Yuuri said, gently, although Yurio wasn't wrong, the memory _did_ sting, "You didn't know better."

As shameful as recounting the event was, to his surprise, viewing it in retrospect made it all seem far less awful than he'd thought it was at that time.

"Fourteen is not that young." Yurio objected, looking affronted.

Yuuri held back a grin that he knew would have immediately brought about the blond's fury.

"Well, no." he said, clearing his throat, "Of course it isn't. But, you know, when I was fourteen, I also said a lot of stupid things, and I still do so today. So don't think about it any longer, okay?"

"Whatever, Katsudon." Yurio said.

"Although." Yuuri added thoughtfully, thinking that if Yurio was already at the point of reflecting, he ought to encourage it further, "for the future, you might cut down a bit on the insults. Basic decency and social expectations aside, it's just not good sportsmanship, you know?"

"Like I need you to tell me what to do." Yurio grumbled.

"It's just advice." Yuuri said, chuckling at the display of teenage opposition.

Yurio glowered at him.

"Do you think I care?" he hurled back, clenching his fists.

"Who cares for sportsmanship? I completely flunked today."

"That's not true." Yuuri said, and it pained him, the way Yuri was blaming himself without any reason, "It isn't true, Yurio, listen to me."

He bend down, placing his palms on the younger skater's shoulders decisively, meeting his fierce, still slightly misty, glare.

"You scored bronze today, you were among the top three _again_ , and this is only your _first_ year in the Senior Division." he began, "And you bet _three other_ skaters today who've been skating for far longer than you have. You secured yourself a spot in the _Grand Prix_. If there's anything you should be doing today, it's celebrating your victory."

"What victory?" Yurio said, fist clenching further, until Yuuri lowered one of his hands and wrapped it around his hand soothingly.

Yurio looked up at him, eyes widened.

"Don't blame yourself for an excellent performance." Yuuri continued, speaking quietly, as he started rubbing Yurio's shoulder in comfort, "You were amazing. You deserve to be happy for doing so well."

Yurio bit his lip, not answering.

"Did Yakov say something?" Yuuri asked, carefully. He knew that Viktor's former and Yurio's current coach relied on strict orders more than on either compassion or emotions, but despite this knowledge, he hoped that he hadn't actually torn Yurio down for _only_ scoring bronze.

Yurio shook his head. "No. He said "Well done. You'll place first next time. We still have a lot to train before the Grand Prix." Yurio frowned, "Or something. Oh, and we'll have some dinner in celebration, apparently."

Yuuri sighed in relief, and nodded. Perhaps Yakov was also still learning, like they all were.

"If even Yakov says that, what are you blaming yourself for, then?" he prodded.

"But-" Yurio said, an edge of despair in his tone.

"But _nothing_." Yuuri sighed, and smiled at him, as gently as he could go without it turning into pity, something he knew Yurio did not want to be looked at with, "You're just at the start of your career, with a brilliant debut. If that makes you feel any better, our point difference isn't even that large to begin with, right? And I have eight more years of experience."

"You still bested me." Yurio said, but slowly, Yuuri felt his fist unravel.

"You can best me next time." he said reassuringly, "Right? And we'll both train hard, so that we'll have a chance to beat JJ the next time. How does that sound, hm?"

"Kick him off his damn throne." Yurio grumbled.

"Exactly." Yuuri laughed, "Oh, and Yurio?"

"What?" the younger skater questioned.

"I think you might already know that, but to remind you- Viktor and I are very proud of you." Yuuri said, softly. He meant every word he spoke.

Yurio was his rival, that was a given, and Yurio was his competition, and would continue to be a competition for the year. But he'd developed affection for him somewhere along those weeks in Hatetsu. It was an odd kind of feeling, and one that frankly he'd never experienced before. It probably came close enough to what he felt for Mari, or the triplets. It was strong, and made him feel protective of and even responsible for a fifteen year old that could take excellent care of himself.

Yurio's eyes shot up, and for a second, Yuuri thought that he could glimpse the hint of surprised joy on his face, before it was replaced by the familiar scowl.

"Stop saying gross things." Yurio said, looking away rapidly, "You're embarrassing yourself."

Yuuri forwent commenting on how Yurio seemed to be the one who was embarrassed, with the light blush tinting his cheeks.

 

* * *

 

Yurio took twenty more minutes to regenerate, and then, after Yuri's assurances that there were no visible signs he'd been crying anymore, they left the bathroom together.

A familiar, jeering voice greeted them the second they pulled the door shut behind themselves.

"So you really are a lady, aren't you?"

Yurio turned around, eyes ablaze in rage.

Jean-Jacques Leroy had apparently just exited from the male's. He was smirking, his gold medal bound loosely around his wrists, swinging it around like a pocket watch.

"Say one more word and I'll personally make sure you don't arrive at the Grand Prix." Yurio hissed at him.

Yuuri winced, laying a hand on his arm just in case he decided to emphasize his statement but Yurio shook him off.

"Careful." he then mumbled, hoping at least his words might get through the younger skater.

JJ broke out into laughter.

"It never gets boring with you, doesn't it? _Moya ledi?"_ he teased.

Then, he was forced to take a step backwards, as Yurio would have launched himself at him right that second. Yuuri had trouble restraining him, and thanked both God and Viktor's merciless training regime. A few weeks ago, he wouldn't have had a chance to hold back the fiery packet of skater rage that Yuri Plisetsky was.

Yurio hurled a stream of expletives in JJ's direction, only stopping to catch a breath.

Yuuri quickly made use of that chance.

"Enough." he said, staring at JJ pointedly, "Leave him alone."

"I was only teasing!" JJ said defensively, spreading out his arms, even giving him a smile, "It was just a joke!"

"There's a difference between joking and bullying." Yuuri stated, cautiously releasing Yurio who, luckily, did not seem two seconds away from murdering the Canadian skater anymore, "And I think you know that."

JJ sighed, running his fingers through his hazelnut-brown hair.

"Sorry, Plisetsky." he said, extending a hand towards him instead, "I didn't mean personal offense."

Yurio snorted, ignoring the offer.

"Yeah, whatever." he muttered and was about to push past them when Yuuri held him back.

"Sportsmanship." he whispered, and received a perplexed _Are-you-kidding-me_ glance from Yurio in response.

The blond clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"You're the worst." he told Yuuri.

But he accepted the gesture, reluctantly shaking JJ's hand, only to let go very quickly and passive-aggressively wipe it off on his training jacket.

JJ either hadn't noticed or hadn't deemed it important enough to comment on it.

"Plisetsky, mind helping me out here for a second?" he instead said, and held his phone for Yurio to see. "This girl messaged me on Twitter, but it's in Russian and I have no idea what it says."

"Use a search engine, stupid." Yurio said, scathingly, but the mention of social media had his interest perked.

"But the Cyrillic makes it difficult." JJ said, and sighed demonstratively, waving the device around, "What kind of king am I if I can't even reply to my loyal Russian fans?"

"You're not a fucking king, you idiot." Yurio grumbled, but snatched his phone, scrolling through the message.

JJ peered over his shoulder.

"This is so stupid it's not worth translating." Yurio declared, squinting at the text, "But fine, if you want to waste your day, I'll do it."

With both skaters invested in the message, no-one was paying him attention any more. Yuuri smiled at the pair, and then quietly walked away, not wanting to disturb Yurio when he jumping over his own shadow and trying to connect with another skater.

"So it says..."Hello my beloved king." he heard Yurio's voice in the background.

He paused before deadpanning: "Seriously?"

"My fans _do_ love me." JJ said, contently, "They are very devoted towards their king."

Yuuri did not hear Yurio's reply, but it made JJ laugh, and that was enough of a good sign.

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor Nikiforov was in the best spirits. The hurried flight back from Japan, where a living, breathing Makkachin was recovering from her steamed buns incident and being fawned over by Yuuri's family, had passed dreadfully slowly. Of course, he had missed out on the actual Free Skate, but he'd still made the after-show party.

He was smiling non-stop. Not only had his student, _his_ amazing Yuuri, scored silver at today's Rostelecom Cup today. No, he'd simultaneously qualified himself for the Grand Prix _and_ they had both shown Yakov that they were a duo to be reckoned with.

Speaking off the devil.

"Wipe that grin off your face." a dismal voice growled at him, and soon, he was joined at his table by his sour-faced former coach.

"Ah, Yakov! Where's Lilia?" Viktor asked, pushing a plate of _syrniki_ towards him.

"Over there talking to a former student." Yakov said, not missing out on the irony of the situation.

Viktor downed half of his glass of _kvass_ , and placed it back down with a loud sigh of refreshment. "The world really is small!" he said cheerfully, glancing over at the petite woman engaged in conversation with Madame Vulture, as Yurio and him had dubbed Yakov's ex-wife, naturally without the latter's knowledge.

Yakov raised an eyebrow at his glass. "Careful with the alcohol, _Vitya_." he admonished.

"Sure, sure." Viktor said, patting Yakov's back hard and making the old man nearly choke on the cheesy pastries, "We both have a reason to celebrate!"

"You won't be holding onto that silver for long." Yakov said grimly, and Viktor met his challenging gaze with a delighted smile.

"You can have it. Yuuri and I plan on climbing even higher than that." he said, with a wink.

Yakov scoffed. "Good comeback, _Vitya_." he commented, taking a sip of wine.

"You admit that Yuuri has potential though, don't you?" the silver-haired said, "Right? Right, Yakov, my only coach?"

He began poking his side.

"I suppose he's... _good_ " Yakov admitted, reluctantly, pointedly ignoring the assault..Viktor's smile widened at the praise.

"Coaching him was an experience." Yakov continued, "Rarely had someone whose mental state decides completely whether they will struggle with basic moves or deliver a performance that will get them the highest scores."

He shook his head contemplatively. "Completely different from _Yuratchka._ "

"Well, that's Yuuri for you." Viktor said, fondly, "But we are working on it. He's far calmer by now than he was when I began coaching him."

Yakov hummed. "There he is, by the way." he stated, nodding towards someone on the other side of the room.

"Yuuri?" Viktor's head turned so quickly he almost twisted his neck.

" _Our_ Yuri, _Yuratchka_ , _not your Yuuri."_ Yakov corrected him, "You love struck fool."

And sure enough, Viktor could see what he meant.

Standing at a sole table with none other than Jean-Jacques Leroy, there was Yurio.

He was not scowling for once, wearing an expression between scepticism and genuine interest, as he listened to something JJ was saying.

Viktor saw him respond something, that had JJ grinning, as he replied, emphasizing his words with large hand gestures.

At least, that was what one of his hands was busy doing.

Viktor's eye twitched. He tuned out Yakov's commentary about skater Lee's performance.

 _King JJ_ 's right hand was placed, non-so-subtly, on Yurio's lower back.

Viktor waited to see if perhaps the _kvass_ had already gotten to his head and blinked, before directing his gaze back at the unlikely pair.

But no. The hand remained, too low for his taste.

Yurio had most certainly noticed, Viktor knew that the younger skater had a vigilance outdone by few, and despised unnecessary physical affection. And yet, said dreaded hand had still not moved. Yurio did not seem to be trying to make it move.

Viktor knew ( he had counted), that it had been sitting there for a whole minute already, every second being one second too much. And that was only what he could draw from his own, late observings.

" _Vitya_!" Yakov complained next to him, "Are you even listening?"

"Excuse me, Yakov." Viktor said, with a nod and took off in Yurio's direction, ignoring Yakov bellowing after him.

 

* * *

 

"And would you believe it – last year, we had _so much snow_ that our band's stage show-"

"Excuse me."

Yurio jumped up, ramrod-straight. His rapid movement caused JJ's warm, secure hand to slip off his back.

He cursed internally. No there was no way it would ever end up there again, for certain. There was no way he'd ever experience that feeling again, that borderline-pleasant-borderline-irritating tempting sensation he could not name.

"Viktor." he growled, all bared teeth, as he whipped around to glare at his former coach, having recognized _that_ annoying voice from the first syllable.

" _Yuratchka_! Is that how you greet me?" Viktor whined, extra-dramatically like the Ice Queen he was, "After I came back with the first flight to see you? It breaks my heart."

"You didn't come back for me, you idiot." Yurio snapped, rolling his eyes when he saw JJ extend his hand towards Viktor in hopes of a handshake with his idol.

 _God_. Viktor was simply everyone's stupid idol, and even some one with an amount of confidence as massive as JJ couldn't deny that excited flicker in his eyes when being in close proximity of the Russian skating legend.

"Hey, Viktor, how's it going?" The Canadian grinned, "Did you see my performance? How did you like it? It don't want to boast, but it's certain it was the best one of them."

 _Only_ JJ, Yurio thought, scathingly, suddenly remembering why again he had hated everything from his smug face to his pretentious outfits. _Only JJ would outright tell anyone he thought his performance naturally outdid the others_.

"Oh, hello, JJ." Viktor said, enthusiasm and friendliness suspiciously absent from his tone.

He ignored the hand waiting for him, instead adding: "It is good to see you." in a quiet, measured tone.

His lips had stretched into a thin, obviously forced smile, but it was his eyes that made Yurio freeze on the spot. Viktor looked _livid_.

"Yeah…great to see you too." JJ spoke, appearing crestfallen and thoroughly confused, contemplating why someonew ould ever turn down the great King JJ, although apparently that was just what Viktor Nikiforov had done. He pulled his hand away.

"Good choice." Viktor commented at that moment, and his smile brightened in a second.

"For the future, I suggest you keep your hand right there at your side. I don't ever want to see it on _Yuratchka_ again, are we clear?" Viktor said, the warning tone his words carried quite obvious in it's meaning.

The blood pounded in Yurio's ears.

"The hell, stupid Viktor?" he cried out, but both of them ignored him, Yurio clenched his fists in rage.

"Wait, what?" JJ looked as though he was trying to steel his resolve. The Canadian laughed nervously, rubbing his neck, "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you know what I mean." Viktor said, and his eyes narrowed, "I don't mind if you're looking for a friendship, but if you think I'm letting you put any moves on our Yurio, you're very much mistaken. He's fifteen, he doesn't even know what love means. You'll break his heart, I'll _break you_ into a thousand little pieces."

"Nikiforov, please, calm down, you got it all wrong!" JJ stammered, drops of sweat beading on his forehead, while Yurio glanced from him to Viktor with blank horror, unable to believe what was transpiring in front of him.

Luckily, most of the reporters had left by now, but at the neighboring tables, a couple turned around to observe the drama unfolding with unhidden interest.

"Viktor, shut up!" Yuri snapped at him, mortified.

The latter merely scoffed. "I know what I saw, JJ." he replied, giving the gold medalist a glare that made him swallow, "I'm watching you, JJ, and-" he lowered his voice until it was but a whisper, "I will _see_ what you do, and if you put a finger on him, I'll make you wish you'd stayed in Canada."

Yurio glanced over right in time to see the color slowly drain from JJ's face.

"WHAT THE HELL, VIKTOR?" he erupted, thunderously, and now all of their surrounding tables turned around, faces ranging from shock to glee. He heard Yakov groan loudly in the background.

"THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE-"

Viktor's look silenced him, and Yurio cursed himself inwardly for still being this damn impressionable.

"We're leaving." Viktor announced, and Yurio felt him grip his arm and started dragging him away, calling out a mocking: "I'll see you at the Grand Prix, _Jean-Jacques._ " over his shoulder.

"Wait!" JJ called out, flabbergasted, "Wait Nikiforov, I swear we weren't-"

The rest of his sentence faded, unheard, as Viktor pulled Yurio through the glass doors of the sports arena.

And then, he finally let him go.

"What the hell!" Yurio snapped, his voice becoming hysterical as he searched Viktor's face desperately for a hint that he was joking, "Who do you think you are?"

"Your former coach and mentor, Yurio, and I'm just looking out for you." Viktor answered firmly, and shook his head, "JJ isn't good news. He's a notorious flirt, and can't be trusted."

That was the loudest statement of hypocrisy Yurio had ever witnessed in is life.

"He wasn't even flirting with me!" he yelled at Victor, unfortunately aware of how his voice was climbing yet another octave and of his cheeks burning up at the lie.

Viktor raised an eyebrow.

"What's that stupid look supposed to mean, stupid Viktor?" he snapped, feeling the horrid blush worsen, _he'd always been shit at lying, and apparently he'd never gotten the hang._

"Look _Yuratchka_." Viktor said, and tried a smile with him, one that Yurio glowered at ferociously until Viktor was forced to tune down its excruciating brightness, "You're a teenager, and that means you're still very young and very impressionable."

His eyes took on the look of a puppy that had been kicked.

"I'm sure you understand that I really don't want my son's first relationship to end in heartbreak?"

 

* * *

 

 

"He doesn't understand." Viktor said glumly, eyeing Yurio's hotel room door that had been shut furiously the second they got back.

Yuuri winced as a text message popped up, Yurio finally deciding to reply after the fourth of Yuuri's well-intended, soothing, _Viktor-only-means-well_ texts.

" _SHOVING YOUR TONGUES DOWN YOUR THROATS ON LIVE TV IS OKAY THOUGH YEAH? FUCK OFF!"_

"Oh, did he reply?" His boyfriend was behind him in the blink of an eye. Yuuri almost believed him to be letting out a sad whimper when reading the words.

"Our son doesn't love us anymore." he whined, laying down his hand on Yuuri's shoulder, and Yuuri sighed, reaching out to pat through the soft, gray strands with a few gentle tuts of "There, there."

"What do we _do_ , Yuuri?" Viktor mumbled, desperately, clinging onto him

"Let's go back to my room and give him some time." Yuuri suggested. He thought he was being diplomatic, but when he caught the suave glint in Viktor's eyes, he realized that diplomacy certainly wasn't the only thing on Viktor's mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri whimpered, quietly, pushing back against Viktor as the latter left yet another hickey on is throat.

Viktor smiled at his desperate boyfriend underneath him, inspecting his handiwork. He moved lower, teeth sinking into a patch of unmarked skin on Yuuri's pale throat.

"Vikt _o_ ooh.." Yuuri moaned, and Viktor shivered at the vulnerable, open admittance, immediately bringing about a response in certain areas.

"I love you, Yuuri." he whispered, and he thrusted forward, Yuuri's scorching, tight body welcoming him, "You are my beautiful town girl, you'll always be." He thrust forward again, with more force, to make his point.

Yuuri choked out a sob, burying his face in the pillow, scratching at the blankets.

Viktor lowered himself further on top of the lean body that is spread out, _for him_ , he could hardly believe it, carefully so as not to suffocate Yuuri.

He heard his boyfriend emit a soft, content sigh at the added physical contact.

"Deeper, Vik." Yuuri mumbled, and turned his head to look at him, with unashamed longing, "You can go, please."

Viktor didn't need to be told twice.

It was not their first time. He knew it made both of them look like horny teenagers, but it had been at the hotel in the night after the Cup of China where they first had not been able to keep their hands off each other.

And _dear God_. Viktor shivered pleasantly at the mere memory. Feeling even more energetic, he went in for two sharp, subsequent thrusts that hit exactly the angle that make Yuuri let out a low, satisfied moan, immediately pushing back again him: _Vik, please, Vik._

Viktor wrapped his arms around him behind, pulling them as close together as it was possible, beginning a myriad of thrusts while his teeth let Yuuri's throat receive all the attention it needed in nips and sharp bites.

Yuuri clenched around him, sweet, soft gasps escaping his shiny lips (Viktor would not be letting go of that lip balm anytime soon).

" _Ya_ _lyublyu tebya._ ", Viktor stammered before he could hold himself back, desperate, voice still coarse with need.

Yuuri bucked up, letting out a keeling moan, and shivered erratically on the bed.

He became still.

Viktor's eyes widened, and he knew the answer before an ashamed Yuuri turned around to informed him.

"I think I...came." he whispered, groaning at himself, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize." a starstruck Viktor told him, hard enough to be painful after Yuuri's confession, "None at all."

When he came inside Yuuri only a few minutes later, he experienced the most overwhelming orgasm in a long while.

 

* * *

 

 

"I still hate both of you, don't get the wrong idea." Yurio informed them, one hour later, since Katsudon and Viktor looked a little too happy when he entered the hotel room.

"Oh, of course, that's alright!" Katsudon took his open declaration of dislike in stride, giving him a humoring smile, one you would give to a hissing kitten when you thought it was being especially precious.

Viktor was smiling too, sitting there on the small hotel couch with an arm around Katsudon.

"Come." he said invitingly, moving to the side in an obvious attempt to make him sit down next to them, "We're watching a movie. It's _Shanghai Blade_ , you'll like it!

Yurio looked at the screen in mistrust, where gangs were fighting with glinting swords.

"Fine." he relented, and ignores the gross, sappy smile Yuuri and Viktor exchange when he settled on the couch as well.

The movie was exciting, and Yurio would not miss out on it under any other circumstances than waiting for a message from none other than King JJ.

_Damn, how long does that bastard take to reply?_

Yurio frowned, closing his messaging app.

"I hope you're not texting that Canadian." he heard Viktor speak up. He sounded good-natured, although Yurio knew he was only holding himself back.

Yurio shot him a glare, and provocatively replied: "And what if I was?"

Victor's eyes widened comically, and Yurio counted three miraculous seconds that he needed to fully digest the message, until he turned around to go all _Yakov_ on him.

" _Skol'ko yeshche raz ya dolzhen skazat' vam?"_ he chided, exasperatedly, and looked not nearly finished, when Katsudon suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright, let him be." Yuuri said, winking in Yurio's direction conspiratorially.

"Yurio's old enough to decide his own friendships, aren't you, Yurio?"

Yurio raisesd an eyebrow at him. Katsudon was trying to act like the _cool adult_ and it was fucking embarrassing.

"It's not the _friend_ that I'm worried about!" Viktor sighed, and glances at the screen, where one of the gang bosses is taking down another leader.

"I know, I know." Yuuri said, softly enough that it makes Yurio want to gag, and pats his shoulder again, "Let him be, Vik."

Viktor grumbled something under his breath, but under their combined pressure, he relented.

"Fine." he assented, " _Fine_. But I'll be watching."

Yurio didn't understand, hated himself even, for the feeling of relief that washed through him.

"Not like I need your fucking permission, Viktor." he grumbled, but leant against Viktor regardless because he was warm and comfortable, "And I'd like to see you try."

Viktor, one arm still slung around stupid Katsudon, began stroking through Yurio's hair.

"You're hurting my feelings, _ditya_." Viktor said, in fake-desperation, "Do you want to make me cry?"

"Maybe." Yurio said, spitefully, and grinned, both at the desperate _Yuuuuri, say something!_ that spilled promptly from Viktor's lips and at the message suddenly popping up in his inbox.

 **King JJ:** _Sounds_ _good, kitten. :D_

 

* * *

 

 

(The next morning, Yurio woke up to a notification on his feed that he wished he'd never read.

"WHAT THE FUUUUCK?!" his distressed voice carried itself down the corridor.

His hands shook in rage, holding the phone.

 **Viktor Nikiforov** _is now friends with_ **Jean-Jacques Leroy**.)

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translations (I don't speak Russian, and apologize for any errors).
> 
> \- Moya ledi = My lady  
> \- Ya lyublyu tebya = I love you  
> \- Skol'ko yeshche raz ya dolzhen skazat' vam? = How many more times must I tell you?  
> \- ditya = child


End file.
